


Dance the Night Away

by Fyre



Category: Bad Education (UK TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Crossdressing, M/M, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-22
Updated: 2014-10-22
Packaged: 2018-02-22 05:34:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2496323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fyre/pseuds/Fyre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You don't just leave your date standing at the end of the prom.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dance the Night Away

**Author's Note:**

> So yeah. Spoilers for the finale of Bad Education.

Stephen dabbed at the corner of his eye with a fingertip. The mascara was meant to be waterproof, but he didn't want to chance it. He'd held it together pretty well. Didn't even cry on Alfie, because that was the last thing he needed.

Coming down the stairs, though, walking towards the door for the last time, it felt more real. 

The end of an era. 

He hugged his shoes, his cup, and his bag against his chest and leaned on the banister with his other hand, trying to keep from crying.

"You all right?"

Stephen turned, startled. "God! Frank! Don't sneak up on me like that!"

Frank was sitting in one of the seats at the reception, his Prom King trophy sitting beside him. His mouth twitched up in a small smile. "Habit, innit," he said, getting up. 

"Sitting in the dark like a creepy stalker?" Stephen snorted, but he couldn't help smiling back. "What were you hanging around there for anyway?"

Frank shoved his hands into his pockets and rocked on the balls of his feet. "Waiting for you," he said. 

Stephen looked down. "Oh! Right! Sorry, babes!" He was still wearing Frank's jacket over his dress, and he reached up to take if off.

Frank took three steps closer, catching Stephen's arm, surprisingly gently. "That ain't why," he said. "Y'like the ponce. Thought you might be upset." He shrugged, looking down at his feet. "Wanted to be about. Y'know. In case you needed company."

Stephen blinked in surprise, and felt the tears on his cheeks. 

Of all the things to break the bloody dam, he didn't expect Frank Grayson to be the one to do it. "Oh god," he exclaimed, swiping at his cheeks with his fingertips. "Don't even look at me! I look like an emo panda!"

Frank's hand slid up Stephen's arm to wrap around his fingers. "Don't be daft," he said fiercely. "You look stunnin'."

He looked so genuine, so stubborn about it, all clenched-jaw and determined. Stephen knew he was hot anyway, but he'd never had someone who wanted to make sure he knew it. It made his stomach go all butterflies.

He leaned closer and kissed Frank quickly on the lips. 

Frank didn't move. He looked like he was holding his breath, his eyes wide.

Stephen swatted his chest. "Don't need to look like I just knocked you on the head," he said with only a little bit of indignation.

Frank darted his tongue out to wet his lips. "Sorry. S'just..." He lowered his eyes, then looked back up. "Ain't never had a bloke want to kiss me before. Especially not one what looks like you."

Stephen felt warm down to his toes. "Is that so?" he said. "Well, I'll have to fix that."

He caught the front of Frank's shirt and pulled him closer to kiss him properly. Frank made a small, hungry sound, and suddenly his hands were at Stephen's waist, sliding around to his back under Frank's own jacket, pulling him closer. Stephen's free hand was in Frank's hair, his hips pressing against Frank's, when his phone buzzed in his bag and Frank jerked back like someone had thrown a bucket of water on him.

"Christ..."

Stepen kept his arm around Frank's shoulders to keep him from backing off, and held up his handbag with the other. "Mum," he said. "She's here to pick me up. Probably thinks I've been kidnapped by some dirty pervert who wants me for my body."

Frank was staring at him, his pupils wide. His face was flushed and his breath coming fast between his parted lips. "She ain't wrong," he said hoarsely. 

Stephen had a feeling he was grinning like a cheshire cat. "You want to come back to mine?" he offered. He was close enough that he could see the clash of panic and want all over Frank's face. "Don't need to do anything, babes. Just... be there."

"Your mum..." Frank started.

"Won't mind," Stephen promised. Everyone had seen Frank's mum. Everyone had heard what a cow she was. His own mum was an angel. She loved him and encouraged him and even went dress-shopping with him for his outfit. "Dad's away anyway, and mum likes it when I have friends around."

Frank hesitated, so Stephen leaned in and kissed him again. Not a snog. Just a quick kiss on the lips.

"You don't need to, babes. Just if you want."

Frank's hands were spread on his back, warm through his dress. "All right," he said, ducking his head with a small, shy smile. "Yeah."

Stephen beamed at him, drawing back and taking one of Frank's hands. "Come on, then," he said, tugging him towards the doors. 

 

 

________________________________________________

 

 

Frank was nervous.

It was fucking stupid to be nervous, but he was. 

He'd been in bedrooms with birds before, and he'd never been nervous, but being in Stephen's room was different. 

Stephen had left him there to go and get something to drink from the fridge, and Frank looked around. The room was bigger than his room at home. Almost as big as the sitting room. It was all soft lights and colours and feathers and sparkles everywhere. There was even a desk with a mirror with lights around it. It was like he was sitting in Stephen's dressing room from his shows.

He looked at the framed pictures on the wall, people he didn't recognise, but every one of them was glamorous, and every one of them was autographed. Wasn't the same as having a footie scarf hanging on the wall.

But then, there was one of them on the hook on the back of the door.

Millwall, but no one was perfect.

He heard Stephen's bare feet pattering up the stairs, and he turned as Stephen opened the door, beaming. He was still in his dress and make-up, but he looked just as good with it as he did in his uniform. Frank hadn't expected that. He'd seen blokes in dresses before and they looked like fucking twats. Stephen didn't. Stephen looked fucking hot. 

"Victory!" Stephen said gleefully, holding up a couple of bottles. One was beer, and the other one was peach schnapps. He held out the beer to Frank. "It's all we had. Hope it's okay."

Frank nodded, taking the bottle. "S'great," he said. He looked around self-consciously.

"You can sit on the bed, if you want," Stephen said, like he could see the panic written all over Frank's face. He skipped over to the make-up-covered dressing table. "I need to take my face off before I forget."

Frank sat down carefully on the edge of the bed as Stephen draped himself onto the chair. He was still wearing Frank's jacket, and when he slipped it off, Frank wondered if he was being a fucking nonce for being upset about it. There was something about Stephen wearing his jacket that hit him like a punch in the gut.

"D'you have a good night?" Stephen asked, looking at Frank's reflection in the mirror.

Frank took a mouthful of beer, nodded. "Yeah," he said. "Don't do stuff like that a lot."

Stephen smiled. "You should," he said. "You look good in a tux."

Frank had to take another mouthful of beer, and looked at his shiny shoes. He could feel the blush, and that was fucking embarrassing. 

If Stephen noticed, he didn't say anything. He was humming to himself as he wiped the make-up off his face. Frank watched him from beneath his lashes, wondering how one bloke could look as fit as a woman as he did as a bloke. 

"D'you like it?" he heard himself ask. "Wearing dresses?"

Stephen glanced over his shoulder, his face bare and glowing. "I like being gorgeous," he replied with that smile that made Frank go all hot and cold at once. "We don't get much variety as boys, so sometimes, I just have to put a dress on and go girl instead."

He twisted on the chair to face Frank, and took a drink from his bottle. "What about you? Do you like people in dresses?"

Frank's face felt like it was on fire, but he nodded. "I like people," he said. He took another mouthful of beer, then added, more quietly, "I like you."

Stephen's smile made his eyes dance. "You're not bad yourself," he said. 

He propped his bare arm on the back of the chair, leaning sideways against it, a thoughtful look on his face. His perfect teeth nibbled on his lips, still dark red with lipstick. It was bloody stupid how much that made Frank want to kiss him again. 

"What do you think," Stephen finally said, his mouth turning into a smile that was dirty as fuck, "of stockings?"

Frank choked on his beer. "What?"

Stephen braced his hand on the back of the chair and pushed himself upright, approaching the bed. Frank looked up at him nervously, setting the half-drunk bottle down on the bedside cabinet.

There was something wicked in Stephen's eyes, and it was making Frank's stomach twist up in knots. He wasn't if he was more scared shitless or turned on, and he didn't want to stop to think about it. 

Stephen caught the hem of his skirt on one side, dragging it up inch by inch, and Frank couldn't have stopped his eyes from following it if he tried. His mouth went dry when he saw what Stephen was on about: he wasn't wearing tights. He had bloody stockings on, all lace around the top with suspenders pressing flush against warm, golden-brown skin. 

The bloody bastard lifted his leg and set his foot on the bed between Frank's legs, so close his toes were practically pressing against his bollocks.

"Unclip me," he purred like a fucking great cat.

Frank's hands were shaking like a fucking leaf as he lifted them. Stephen's thighs were works of fucking art. He remembered watching the bugger dance, back at Christmas, and seeing them. Solid muscle.

Stephen's skin was firm and smooth under his fingers, and Frank swore between clenched teeth when he fumbled the clips.

A warm hand with long, red nails covered one of his. 

"No hurry, babes," Stephen murmured. His voice was lower than usual, and his palm spread over Frank's hand, pressing it flush against his inner thigh.

Frank swallowed hard. He'd imagined what Stephen's legs would feel like. He'd imagined being wrapped up in them. Now, he knew what they felt like, and it wasn't fucking helping at all. 

His thumb caught the clip, and it snapped open. The other one followed. 

Frank looked up at Stephen, who was biting on his lower lip. "What now?" he asked, hoarsely. 

Stephen's red lips curled slowly, his eyes half-closed and dark. "Roll it down, babes," he murmured. "Gently. You ladder it, you replace it."

Frank's tongue darted along his lips that felt dry as rock. His fingers were still shaking as he started rolling the stocking down. His fingertips dragged along Stephen's thighs, and he could feel the muscle tensing under the skin, could see it, faint shadows cast by the soft light. 

One hand slid under Stephen's thigh, drawing the stocking down, and he leaned closer, spreading his fingers right behind Stephen's knee. He had to stop there, just for a minute, catching his fucking breath. 

Stephen's hand stroked through his hair, making him tilt his head back, making him look up. He was breathing almost as hard as Frank was, his lips parted, his teeth visible between them.

"That's good," he breathed. 

Frank kept his eyes on Stephen's face, then lowered his head and pressed his mouth to the inside of Stephen's knee. Nails scratched across the back of his neck, and he heard the way Stephen's breathing stopped, and saw the way his eyelashes fluttered closed. 

Christ, if that wasn't fucking beautiful, nothing was.

He moved his mouth up and felt the muscle twitch under his lips.

Wasn't like he'd ever done it for a bird, but this wasn't any daft tart in a skirt.

His hands dragged the stocking the rest of the way down, until it was a tangle around Stephen's foot. One hand wrapped around the back of Stephen's calf, and he lifted his head to look at Stephen. "An' now?" he said. His tongue felt thick in his mouth.

Stephen's eyes were fixed on his face, gleaming. "I've got another leg," he murmured, "if you want."

It was embarrassing how quickly Frank nodded. He let go of Stephen's leg, and watched as Stephen folded the leg up behind him, tugging the stocking off his foot and tossing it away. It landed on the mirror as he set his bare foot on the floor.

His other foot settled between Frank's thighs, and Stephen licked his lower lip as he pressed his foot closer than the first. 

Frank swallowed a groan. "You bastard..."

Stephen giggled and wiggled his toes, and that didn't fucking help. "The sooner it's off," he said, his voice wicked, "the sooner..."

Frank's heart thumped a bit faster. "The sooner?"

Stephen looked innocently at the ceiling, raising his broad, bare shoulders in a shrug. "We'll see," he said, curling his fingers around the skirt of his dress. There was no slow dragging this time. He just pulled it all the way up, all pale and clingy, and Frank could see what it wasn't exactly hiding underneath.

Looked like he was enjoying the attention as much as Frank was enjoying giving it. 

Fucking hell, that was a hell of a thing to realise.

Frank reached for the clips. Should have been easier, second time around, but his hands just wouldn't stop bloody shaking. He snapped them open, almost tearing the lace. Didn't care if he laddered the sodding stocking this time. He just wrapped his hands around Stephen's leg and pulled it down as fast as he bloody could.

Stephen laughed breathlessly. "In a hurry, babes?" he said, smug as you like. 

Frank looked up at him. "What do you think?" he said raggedly. 

Stephen withdrew his foot, tugging off the second stocking. It landed beside the first. He set his foot back down on the carpet and gave his hips a shake, letting his skirt settle. What Frank had seen hidden by bunched up fabric was fucking obvious when the skirt hung over it.

He stared at it for a second too long, then looked up at Stephen, who arched his eyebrows.

"Your move, babes," he said.

Frank's mind went blank. His palms felt damp and his trousers were too fucking tight, and now the bastard wanted him to think? Christ, it wasn't like he hadn't imagined what he'd want to do with Stephen night after fucking night with his hands down his boxers. He just never imagined it'd happen, especially not with Stephen looking like that. 

He reached out blindly, grabbing his beer bottle, and took a mouthful. His mouth was too fucking dry. 

Stephen tilted his head. He looked worried, and he reached out one hand to trace a fingertip down Frank's cheek. "We can slow down, if you want, Frank."

Frank swallowed the mouthful of beer, then set the bottle down. He was fucking terrified, yeah, but he wasn't a fucking coward. And god only knew if he'd ever get the chance again to be this close to Stephen.

"Sod that," he said, reaching out and grabbing Stephen's hips, pulling him forward. Stephen made a sound of surprise, his hand dropping to steady himself on Frank's shoulder, but his eyes were sparkling.

"What are you thinking, babes?" he said.

Frank could feel the press of the nails through his shirt, and Christ, the thought of those nails on his bare back made his prick harder. That was for later, though. Now, he knew what he wanted, if it was the last thing he did.

He dropped his hands down to the bottom of the skirt, and slid his hands up Stephen's thighs, pushing the skirt up, all the way to his hips. When he looked down, his head felt light. Jesus Christ, the bastard wasn't just wearing a fucking frock. He was in silk fucking knickers. 

They were thin and sheer and Frank could see every fucking inch of him. He was hard an’ all, tenting them up and for a second, Frank couldn’t remember how to breathe.

Stephen didn’t say anything. He just pressed his fingers against Frank’s shoulders. Choice was all his, and Frank could only stare as he traced his thumbs down from Stephen’s hips to the front of his knickers, dragging the silk flush against Stephen’s dick.

His heart was pounding hard as anything as he ran his thumb from bottom to top. Stephen shivered and gave a little sigh, and Frank just had to look up at him. Stephen nodded encouragingly, biting his lower lip, so Frank pressed his whole hand against him.

Christ, it was hot and hard. He wrapped his hand around the whole length, dragging the silk up and down and Stephen moaned like he was dying.

“God, yeah…” he breathed, pushing into Frank’s hand.

Frank’s dick felt like it was going to fucking explode. He couldn’t take his eyes of Stephen, not when he moved his hand up and down, tightening and loosening it and watching for the way Stephen’s mouth opened a little wider, the way his hips jerked like he wanted to just fuck Frank’s hand as hard as he could. His hands were on Frank’s shoulders, kneading like a cat, and he was breathing hard.

It got worse - or better - when Frank got up the balls to drag the knickers out of the way.

Skin to skin was better.

Frank wasn’t a fucking pussy. He knew what he wanted, and he was going to have it, and it wasn’t fucking skin on skin.

He bowed his head and wrapped his mouth around Stephen’s prick.

Stephen squeaked like a fucking gerbil, and his hands were in Frank’s hair, and he was done just like fucking that. It was all salt and wet and Stephen, and Frank wiped his mouth on the back of his hand before he looked back up.

Stephen was staring down at him. “You didn’t have to do that, babes.”

One side of Frank’s mouth turned up. “I know,” he said. “I wanted to.”

Stephen shook his head, his smile returning. “You’re full of surprises,” he said, spreading his hands back on Frank’s shoulders. The muscles in his arms moved, smooth and gleaming, and he pushed Frank back onto the bed, sprawling down over him. 

His mouth found Frank’s again, and Frank groaned as Stephen’s tongue darted against his, tasting exactly what Frank had tasted.

His hands were moving too, and Frank hissed in surprise when nails dragged across his bare belly. He pulled back from Stephen’s kiss. “I’m not…” he hesitated. “You’re well fit… I’m just…”

“Exactly what I want,” Stephen replied, leaning over him to kiss him again. His hand spread on Frank’s belly, nails trailing down, and Frank pressed his head back against the duvet, trying not to get off on someone scratching his belly like a fucking dog. 

Stephen’s mouth moved off his, down his cheek, down his jaw, onto his throat.

“You all right?” he whispered, between nipping at Frank’s tattoo.

One of Frank’s fists was twisted up in the duvet. “Not for long,” he gasped out, yelping when Stephen’s hand undid the button of his trousers. 

Stephen chuckled against his throat, and the bastard took his time slowly pushing Frank’s fly down. “You’re not very patient, are you?” he said, and then his fingers were inside Frank’s boxers, wrapping around Frank’s prick. 

Frank made the most pathetic, breathless sound known to man, and fuck if he didn’t come all over Stephen’s hand in half a dozen strokes. He collapsed back against the bed, panting, shaking, and then Stephen made it worse by lifting his hand and sucking his fingers clean. Frank couldn’t help staring as each slender finger disappeared between those dark red lips, wet with cum, and came out wet from Stephen’s tongue. 

“God…” he breathed.

“Nah, babes,” Stephen giggled. “Stephen.” He smiled playfully. “Easy mistake to make.”

With effort, Frank shoved himself up on one elbow and pulled Stephen down to kiss him again. They both tasted like each other, he realised dizzily. He could taste his cum and Stephen’s and god, he wanted to do it again.

It felt like they just lay there, in a tangle of skirts and legs, snogging for ages, when Stephen nipped at his lower lip. “You wanna stay the night?” he whispered. 

It was a big fucking jump.

But then, it wasn’t. 

They’d been to the football before. 

They’d been to prom together and Frank liked Stephen. Really liked him.

“If you want,” he said cautiously, hoping Stephen did too.

Stephen beamed at him, that sunshine smile. “I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t want,” he said happily, running his hand up and down Frank’s chest. He pushed himself up onto his knees. “You’ll have to unzip me.”

“Now?”

Stephen laughed. “You just gave me a blow job and you’re worried about taking my frock off?” he said, shaking his head. “You’re one of a kind, Frank.” He twisted around, showing his shoulders and back. “There’s a hook at the top. I can’t reach it.”

Frank couldn’t help thinking he was going to tear the fine fabric, but he managed to get the hook undone and slid the zip down. He followed its progress, his mouth going dry all over again, as the length of Stephen’s back was revealed.

Christ, he had muscles everywhere, didn’t he?

He couldn’t keep himself from running his fingertips from the back of Stephen’s neck, all the way down to his tailbone. 

Stephen shivered, rolling his shoulders. “Like what you see?”

“Yeah,” Frank whispered.

Stephen unfolded from the bed and straightened up, his back to Frank, and pushed the dress down. It dropped from his hips to land on the floor, leaving him in nothing but the knickers and his garter belt. The knickers clung to his arse like a second skin, and he looked back over his shoulder, eyes dancing.

“How about now?”

Frank could only nod in approval. What the hell was he meant to be able to say with all of that gorgeous man standing right in front of him?

Stephen was a proper bastard. He bent down, right there, to pick up the dress. Not like someone else would. He just folded in half, and every muscle all the way down his legs pulled tight, and his arse got even tighter, and Frank had to swallow around the lump in his throat.

“You keep that up, ain’t gonna get any sleep tonight,” he said hoarsely. 

Stephen looked back at him with a smirk as he straightened up, smoothing out the dress. “Who said anything about sleeping, babes?” He nodded to Frank. “Your turn. Don’t want to get any stains on your suit.”

Frank looked down, then grimaced. “Too late,” he said.

Stephen laughed, motioning for him to get up. He tugged at the waist of Frank’s trousers. “I’ll put them in to soak,” he said. His eyes were dancing. “I’ve got a lot of experience of stains.” 

“You’re a dirty bastard.” Frank couldn’t help laughing.

“Takes one to know one,” Stephen purred, shoving Frank’s trousers down. “Now, if you’re not naked and on that bed in five minutes, I’ll strip you myself.” He leaned a little closer. “And I won’t be gentle.”

Frank’s heart was racing again, and he had a feeling he wasn’t going to have any problems not sleeping. Stephen raised an eyebrow in challenge and Frank reached for the buttons of his shirt at once. 

Nah. Sleeping was for pussies. 

 

_______________________________________________

 

 

He’d forgotten to shut the curtains properly. There was a crack and it was right on his face.

Stephen squinted against the slice of morning light cutting across the room. He could see his dress hung up on the wardrobe door, but there was a tuxedo jacket on the back of his chair, and a pair of shoes beside it.

And there was a warm arm around his waist, and a face buried in his shoulder.

A stupid grin spread across his face and he traced his fingertips down Frank’s forearm. Frank grunted sleepily, and swatted at his hand, nestling closer to him. They were tucked up close, Frank the big spoon to Stephen’s taller little spoon.

He could tell the second Frank woke up, because he went tense, as if he wasn’t sure where he was.

Stephen squeezed his hand. “Morning,” he murmured.

Frank mumbled something against the side of his throat, sleepily and incomprehensible. He yawned and buried his face back into Stephen’s shoulder.

“Still tired?”

“Mm.”

Stephen shifted back just a little. He hadn’t mastered twerking not to put his skills to good use. With the right angle, his hips moved just right, and Frank’s arm tightened around his waist, and his breath came hot against Stephen’s throat.

“You randy bugger,” he mumbled.

Stephen laughed, looking back at him. “You sound surprised.”

Frank leaned over his shoulder to plant a drowsy kiss on his lips. “By you? Always.”

Stephen settled his hips, nuzzling his nose against Frank’s. “We don’t need to do anything,” he said, “if you’re tired.”

Frank’s face burrowed into his neck again, as if he was comfortable there. “Mm.” There was a moment of silence. “Later?”

Stephen squirmed around, picking up a pillow and lobbing it at the curtain. It fell closed, settling the room into darkness again. Stephen nodded in satisfaction, then curled down in Frank’s arms, snuggling closer to him. 

“Later,” he agreed, tangling his legs around Frank’s. “We’ve got time.”


End file.
